


Cohabitation

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Comedy, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Not Epilogue Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-01
Updated: 2008-11-01
Packaged: 2018-10-27 14:35:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10810971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Living together isn't easy under the best of circumstances. Cohabitating with Draco Malfoy was near impossible.





	Cohabitation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Originally written for the Welcome to My Nightmare Challenge at the dramionedrabble community on Live Journal

Hermione arrived home from work tired. It had been an especially trying day at the Ministry, what with the rather bad idea to remove the paper airplanes used to deliver interdepartmental memos and replace them once more with owls. She had warned the idiot that Minister Shacklebolt had put in charge of the Office of Interdepartmental Affairs the havoc this would cause, but had he listened to her? No, he had not.

She started toward the kitchen of her flat and almost collided with said idiot.

"You're home late," Draco said.

Hermione brushed past him, too angry to speak. Besides, he deserved the silent treatment after the terrible afternoon he had caused her. She was just going to put on the kettle, have a nice long shower and go to bed where there was a wonderfully smutty romance novel waiting for her on her bedside table.

She turned the corner to the kitchen and met with a horrendous sight. Her kitchen, or at least she thought her kitchen was buried somewhere beneath the mess, looked as though it had been hit with hurricane force winds.

"I made dinner," Draco stated matter-of-factly, "so it's your turn to clean up."

She shoved him hard, turned on her heel and headed up the stairs saying a litany of words that would have sent her mother scrambling for a bar of soap to wash out her filthy mouth. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and whirled around. "If you are smart—let me rephrase that, since you've proven on at least two occasions today that you are not. STAY AWAY FROM ME."

She went straight to the shower and stripped off her clothes. As she stood beneath the warm spray, she felt a bit of tension leave her and at least a portion of her foul temper wash away. She stepped from the shower, cast a drying spell over her hair and body and donned her favourite pyjamas.

She padded in bare feet to the bedroom where she was surprised to find a steaming cup sitting on her bedside table and her usually idiotic, albeit attractive, boyfriend clad only in a pair of pyjama pants lounging across the duvet. He was reading _her_ book and getting crumbs from the crisps he was eating on her side of the bed.

"You are testing my patience."

He ignored the statement. "How do you read this rubbish? Come here," he said, patting the spot in front of him that was currently crumb-covered.

Hermione bit her tongue and reminded herself that if she hexed him that would only be another mess for _her_ to clean up. Thus, she practiced restraint and instead used her wand to vanish the crumbs and the bag of crisps in his hand.

"Oi! I was eatin' those."

She shot him an icy glare, climbed onto the bed and reached for the cup of tea on her bedside table. However, the formerly steaming cup was empty.

"You drank it?" she shouted.

"Hm. Good too," he responded, still reading the book. "Honestly, _his fingers ghosted over her bare breasts raising goose bumps on her skin_ ," he read aloud. "Bah. Rubbish. I mean—."

It was the final straw. She really wanted that tea. She jerked the book from his hand and brought it down soundly upon his head.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he asked rubbing the spot that was reddening on his forehead.

"Get out!" she screamed.

He simply rolled onto his back and folded his hands behind his head.

"What's got your knickers all in a twist?" he asked with a smirk.

"I swear, Draco, if you don't—"

Before she could finish, he had pinned her beneath the weight of his body. She shouted her protests and pummeled his back with her fists, but he ended her feeble attempts at an assault by casting a spell to tie her hands to the headboard.

"Temper, temper," he said, pushing her pyjama top up and palming her breasts.

"I swear, Draco. You are the biggest prat. Untie my hands."

"We both know that's not what you want."

As much as she relished control, the one thing she loved more than being in control was relinquishing it in the bedroom. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending upon how one viewed it, he knew that.

In mere minutes, she was whimpering beneath the expertise of his fingers and the divine way in which he used his tongue, swirling up, around and over her nipples until she was begging for more.

"Tell me you want me," he said.

She glared at him.

He smiled a smug and knowing smile. "Say it."

"No."

Draco leaned forward and pressed a light kiss on her stomach, trailing his tongue over her navel and laughing when she lifted her hips in response. He tugged the bottoms of her pyjamas down and off, then used his hands to splay open her thighs. "Now, isn't this better than reading that stupid book?"

"Shut up," she replied. "I like you better when you don't talk."

Rather than offend, her words prodded him on. He held her gaze, never breaking eye-contact as his fingers kneaded the soft skin of her thighs and his tongue parted her folds. His tongue teased her with an expertise born from the many nights they had shared over the past year. He lapped at her, making slow and deliberate flicks across her clit, as he worked two fingers in and out of her in perfect rhythm with the rise and fall of her hips.

There were times it seemed they had nothing in common, and her friends were quick to point that out at every turn. However, when they were in bed words were seldom necessary. He read her body as easily as if she were printed words on a page. She never had to tell him what she wanted; he seemed to know before she did.

At this moment, she wanted more and he was ever so willing to oblige.

He shed his pants in a fluid motion and settled himself between her thighs, releasing her hands from the bindings as he parted her lips with his tongue. His mouth was warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the cold, hateful prat he so often acted. His hips rocked slowly against her and he kissed her tenderly over and over again.

It was during these times when she remembered why she loved him.

His whispered words on her skin reminded her that beneath all appearances of arrogance, and despite all of the ways in which he drove her to distraction, he loved her. He didn't say it often, but when he did, there was never any doubt that he meant it.

He increased the pace of their lovemaking and the power of her orgasm tore from her throat just as she felt the warmth of his release.

Fin.


End file.
